Silent Solutions
by Mana7
Summary: The aftermath of a Carby arguement.


Title: Silent Solutions

Author: Mana

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Not mine, never were.

Spoilers: none

Summary: The aftermath of a Carby argument. AU where they are still going out and who knows if they ever broke up.

Author's note: I originally wrote this as a sequel to Wet August, but the mood was completely different, so I made it a whole new story. It seems kind of pointless to me, but I'd like to know what you think (*cough* need feedback please *cough*)

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From the doctor's lounge to the El platform they'd said nothing. Side by side on the speeding transit, they'd not touched, even an arm to a shoulder. Walking from the station to the steps of her apartment building they'd watched each other's feet in silence. Just outside the building he'd slipped on an icy spot. She'd caught him crooked, he smiled and mumbled thanks. She wanted to know if he was okay.

He took the surface meaning and said yes, he was just fine. Then he watched her calves as she ascended the stairs and watched her back as she unlocked her door. 

Inside she beelined for the kitchen, rearranging the groceries he'd put away earlier. The cabbage was in the meat drawer, the ketchup with the milk. She thrust the food to the proper spots, resenting him for not knowing by now that the peanut butter went next to the jelly, just below the eggs, across from the spinach. She dug her fingernails into an apple and clenched.

He'd gone straight for the couch. He lay there now, pretending to be invested in the Bulls game. They were losing; he didn't care. His back ached, and, shifting, he rubbed it. The pain from the backward rotation of his shoulder joint was almost half as great as the back pain itself. 

As she was leaning on the counter, pretending to stare at the snow falling outside, she saw him wobble, then wince. Behind him in a silent instant, she pushed him forward and angled his back semi-upright. Perching on the arm of the couch, she kneaded her fingers into flesh he'd been unable to reach. 

"I thought you weren't hurt from that fall." His response was a tiny involuntary moan. Keep rubbing, it meant. 

He leaned into her hands and shut his eyes. As he wasn't looking, she could gaze at him, reading his face for signs she was massaging the right knot. She was. 

Too soon the phone rang, and leaving, she slid her hand across his abdomen. The truce was over. He could hear her in the kitchen laughing with the caller and he resumed his fake basketball fan pose.

"Don't worry Susan, he may talk big, but if he's like any other man on the face of this planet, you can break him down." A pause, Susan must have had a good retort. More laughing. 

"Yeah, that's right. Tie him up and dangle your house key five inches from his face." He knew he must have rolled over because as Abby caught his staring eye, the smile faded from her laugh. 

She said goodbye to Susan and said yes, she'd call back soon. Then the apartment was quiet again and she walked away, past the back of the couch. 

Eighteen Bulls points and one non-convincing cheer later, she returned with two heaping laundry baskets.

"Any more laundry?" She asked, wondering about the dirty socks and t-shirts that he had a way of scattering. He gave her the sweater he was wearing and the shirt beneath that, and his socks. That was all, he said, thanks.

She thought to tell him he had no other clean sweaters and he would get cold. Then she remembered they were hardly talking and decided he could figure it out himself.

Returning from the basement, she found him still on the couch. He had clean socks and a new t-shirt and over that he wore what she recognized to be her second favorite down jacket, but what really looked like a bad designer's idea of a vest. She was unable to suppress the laugh the outfit encouraged, and he looked up smiling, proud he'd been able to entertain. 

She left and emerged from the bedroom with an old grey sweatshirt of his. "Here," she said with a polite smile. "Try on something your own size."

He gaped. "That sweatshirt's been here all this time? I've been looking all over—it's my favorite!"

"I know," she handed it to him. He pulled it over his head, and the scent told him why he'd never seen it in his drawer here.

"How come I haven't seen you wearing it?" He knew full well she only wore it when he was gone. She knew full well he was testing her.

"I don't need to be reminded of you if you're sitting right here," she answered, passing the test in her own half-cryptic way. He imagined her here when he was not. Wearing the sweatshirt as she lay on her bed, unsleeping. She'd sniff the sweatshirt, then clutch his pillow and sniff that too. He wished he could fit into her clothes. 

"Carter," he could hear her saying. "John."

He sat up, adjusting the sweatshirt, inviting her to sit down. He was a little less angry after the sweatshirt exchange. It had been bold for her to let him in on the secret. She missed him sometimes, good to know. 

"I miss you too," he hadn't meant to say. He didn't think she'd understand. Bending, she kissed the clothing that covered his closest shoulder. She understood alright. He held her head against his shoulder groove as long as he could. To cry would be impossible, his eyes were dry, but he felt the urge from within. 

"Sorry's not enough," he began. She lifted her head. "Sorry's not enough," she echoed.

They were silent.

"Then what can we do?" she asked. Perfectly quiet again. She needed to be holding him right now. He needed to hold her. They sat still as coffins. 

"Love each other until it's forgiven?" he suggested. So softly she wouldn't have heard had she not been focusing entirely on him. 

"I'm sorry," she said after a moment's contemplation. She stroked his pinky with her thumb. Leaning closer, she whispered "I hate that I can hurt you so much," and leaned sideways against his arm.

Frozen, he whispered back. "It scares me how much pain I cause." Turning, she watched his face, he watched hers. 

A timer from the kitchen erased the ambience.

"Laundry's done."

On the stairs down to the basement, she leaked three tears. "Him, him, him" she thought, and swiped at her wet cheek.

On the way back upstairs she thought "I love him."

*******

Thanks so much for reading! 


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